The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Vite, I pray you. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. You love money. \"He's good-looking. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest.
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